Karolina of Zbuczyn

What would happen if the West abandoned Ukraine? This fictionalised account by Chris Kremidas-Courtney imagines life in one Polish village following a Russian victory. It serves as a stark warning for policymakers dithering over support for Kyiv.

Another early morning, but such is life when you work at a bakery. The bread and pastries must be fresh and ready since the villagers arrive as early as seven in the morning to start picking up what they need for the day. On this morning in early February 2026, Karolina woke up to her radio alarm with a Polskie Radio report looking back at how much had changed in the world since the 2024 US Presidential election.

She quickly turned it off, not wanting more depressing news so early in the day.  Living in a Polish village close the border with Belarus, there was already too much tension.

The winter of 2026 marked one year since the ceasefire in Ukraine after the US and much of Europe largely abandoned Kyiv after four years of brutal combat. The Russians nonetheless declared victory and promised revenge on countries which had supported Ukraine’s valiant defence. For months now, numerous newly equipped Russian formations were deployed to Belarus and the occupied territories of Ukraine.

European life had undergone a seismic shift. It was a time marked by uncertainty and the looming shadow of conflict.

Karolina’s life before the conflict had been ordinary, filled with the simple pleasures of village life. She worked at the bakery, her days punctuated by the warm scent of fresh bread and sharing laughter with her colleagues and customers.  However, as Russian forces began to mass in Belarus, a palpable fear gripped the region. The West, divided after abandoning Kyiv, seemed reluctant to engage directly, leaving countries like Poland on the frontlines of a potential new conflict.

Some days she would see little Janusz, looking into bakery window with hunger and hope in his eyes. He is only nine but looks much younger since, like so many children in the village, he is now much thinner. His father was mobilised, and his mother is struggling to raise four children all by herself. Their farm is barely surviving since there is no one available to help.

With the threat of invasion looming, Karolina’s brother, Marek, was mobilised along with many others. He had always been the protective figure in her life, their parents having long ago passed away. His departure left Karolina with a deep sense of loneliness and fear. Each night, she would stare at the empty chair across the dinner table, a stark reminder of the personal cost of things far beyond her control.

Nana Krystyna next door is also alone and recently suffered a stroke, so Karolina often brings bread and soup and listens to the older woman’s stories of Soviet occupation.

The village itself transformed. Fields that once grew wheat and sunflowers were now dotted with military checkpoints and the rumble of armoured vehicles. The bakery, once a hub of community life, saw fewer customers, as people’s priorities shifted towards stocking up on essentials and preparing for the worst.

Karolina found solace in helping others. She began volunteering at a local shelter, aiding families who had fled the conflict in Ukraine. Their stories were harrowing, tales of lost homes and loved ones, of life turned upside down. Yet, in their resilience, Karolina found herself inspired to find a strength she didn’t know was within her.  She organised community gatherings, trying to foster a sense of normalcy and hope amidst the chaos and tension.

The redirection of government funds towards defence inevitably impacted health and social systems across Europe. With a larger portion of national budgets allocated to military needs, public spending on healthcare, education, and welfare experienced cutbacks.

This led to a noticeable strain on healthcare systems, which were still recovering from the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic. Waiting times for medical procedures increased, and there was a shortage of staff and resources in many hospitals. Social programmes faced budget cuts, leading to reduced benefits and support for the most vulnerable.

The influx of refugees from Ukraine added to the strain. While showing solidarity with the refugees, other European countries struggled to provide adequate healthcare, housing and social support.

As a result, public discontent grew in some regions. People questioned the balance between national security and social welfare. Protests and new political movements emerged, advocating a more balanced approach to budgeting, emphasising the importance of maintaining robust social and health services even in times of increased military spending. Russian disinformation platforms amplified and twisted these legitimate concerns into calls for disarmament that convinced few in the frontline states but a sizeable number of people in western Europe.

As winter deepened, the threat of conflict loomed ever larger. News from other parts of border was scarce and often conflicting, but the presence of NATO forces and EU police in the area was a small comfort. The locals were not sure if they would stay and fight, or just leave them on their own. Karolina often found herself gazing eastward, wondering what lay beyond the horizon. She clung to the hope that diplomacy would prevail and that her country would not be plunged into the darkness of war.

Despite the uncertainty, Karolina’s spirit remained unbroken. She continued to bake bread, each loaf a symbol of resilience.  She also held onto the hope that one day, her brother would return and that the fields would once again be filled with crops, not soldiers.

This article is part of Friends of Europe’s Ukraine Initiative series, find out more here. The views expressed in this #CriticalThinking article reflect those of the author(s) and not of Friends of Europe.